


I Don't Have a Partner

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He was a little screwed up, I was a lot.  But we looked after each other.”  Years before SHIELD was even a blip on their radar, Miles tries to keep Skye above water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Have a Partner

“Skye,” Miles calls, from somewhere very far away, “Skye, baby, what happened?”  She lazily lifts her hand to the side of his face, digging frayed nails into his cheek.

“I’m fine,” she slurs.  The three Miles in her vision frown in unison, and she giggles.  Or maybe hiccups.  Or dry heaves.  She might puke a little.  Miles is putting his hand behind her head, trying to hold her up.

“Baby,” he asks, “baby, can you hear me?”  She giggles again, tracing her fingers down his face.

“‘Course I can,” she replies.  “When did you get here?”  She arches her back upwards, and Miles has to shift to hold her.

“What did you take?” he asks her.  “Skye?  Skye!”  It’s only from the shaking of her shoulders that she knows he needs her, or her attention, or something.  She’d been drifting.

“Dunno,” Skye says.  Her eyes flutter shut again.

“Skye!” Miles is in her ear now, echoing in her brain.  She moves her hands to shield her eyes. 

“I’m sorry?” she whines, as Miles tries to lift her from the floor.  Her ribs are pressing against her skin.  “Miles!” she protests.  “Miles!”  She wants to tell him that she’s going to die, when her ribs break through.  She’s going to die.

“Shh,” Miles says, finally bringing her to her feet, “just breathe.  Can you do that?”  She thinks so.  Maybe.  He’s got one arm slung around her, and the standing makes her dizzy.  With a lurch, she pukes into the sink.  Miles swears in a stream, never ending.  She can’t seem to stop throwing up.  Miles reaches for a paper towel, running it under the other tap.  She feels hot as he presses it to the corners of her mouth.  Sopping with sweat.  Sick.  She’s going to die.

“Skye!” She stares at the lights.  They’re dancing.  “Skye, come on.  Please, just stay awake.”  She laughs.

 

She gets sick another few times in Miles car, because the road is bumpy and the heat is overwhelming.  When Miles opens the passenger door, she falls into his arms, sweating, panting, retching onto his shoes.  He half drags her to the door, dirt mixing with vomit on his shoes, turning black.  She can feel every speck of dust on her ankles, and it itches.  It itches so bad but he won’t let her scratch-she tries to twist out his arms and he almost drops her in the parking lot.  She screams, loud and scared and tired.

“Miles!” she cries, “Miles, it hurts!”  She doesn’t know what hurts, exactly.  Something hurts.  Maybe just her bones.

“You’re okay,” Miles tells her, shifting his hold on her.  “You’re okay, baby.  Just keep it together a little while longer, okay?  Keep it together for me.”  His keys jingle in her ears and make her eyes go cross, and the moldy smell of their motel room is enough to send her into another heaving fit.  Miles pulls her more urgently, into the bathroom, setting her into the bathtub.  She reaches to pet the bug crawling around the drain.

“Look,” she coos, falling forward, “look!”  Miles props her up with one hand, using the other to turn on the shower.  The cold water makes her shriek again, shaking her head.  She kicks her legs, tries to push him off her as he pulls off her shirt.

“Skye, you’re covered in vomit and dirt,” he says, softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.  Skye!”  His voice is steady.  “It’s okay.  We’re going to get you cleaned up, okay?”  She counts four Miles now, and lets them lift her heavy arms and pull her shirt off over her head.  She feels lighter, somehow.  She leans against the back of the tub, letting the water pool on her stomach.  He unbuttons her shorts, pulls them down her legs.  Her bra is sticking to her chest.  It feels too heavy.  She sinks down. 

“Skye, baby,” Miles says, “can you keep your head up?”  She lolls her head back entirely, as Miles takes off her bra and her underwear, leaving them in a wet heap beside the tub.  He runs a washcloth under the water and starts to wipe her forehead.  She dully touches her hand.

“You with me?” he asks.  It sounds like begging.  She thinks he’s crying.  She shuts her eyes.


End file.
